


Rain Check

by phylocalist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Future, it's actually pre-otabek/yuri but you can See something is definitely going on, it's literally all just.... fluff, post-season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: Otabek had planned out this day perfectly; Yuri didn't deserve anything less for his birthday. He had picked all the activities and locations according to his knowledge of Yuri and was sure he'd enjoy it. It went perfectly, up until the point where he broke out his gift for Yuri and the boy startedlaughing."My birthday is next month."





	

**Author's Note:**

> based on Real Life Events™ though i exaggerated the events a lot for the purpose of Good Ol' Fluff. [pat](http://twitter.com/tofutown) wrote it as a prompt and said i should write it out in the form of a fic and i did because it was disgustingly cute and funny.
> 
> beta'd by fia [infiniteandsmall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteandsmall)! i can't thank you enough for the read and the helpful comments and corrections. <3
> 
> i didn't have a set time for this fic while i wrote it, but it probably happens around 2 or 3 years after the barcelona grand prix.

With a long sigh, Otabek gives his creation the finishing touches. He wipes imaginary sweat off his brow and frowns down at the kitchen counter.

Staring back at him from the counter, covered in pristine white meringue and touches of grey icing, lays a home-baked birthday cake. He had tried his best, he _really_ had, but still he had never been known for his innate skill for baking nor decorating. The small, delicate details that came with icing a cake didn’t really _suit_ him, but he’d carried on for the sake of Yuri.

Yuri who, in that moment, was probably asleep on the plane back home. It was a mere few hours before he arrived and Otabek had to start setting everything in motion. He hadn’t done much more in terms of decorating than the cake but he thought that was probably what Yuri would like. He didn’t seem like he’d do well in a party full of friends fawning over him, more often than not unable to show his appreciation under all the embarrassment and subsequent rage, and Otabek thought he could give himself the luxury of being selfish for once in his life. He wanted to spend all day long together with Yuri and no one else, making sure he had the best time he could after all the stress of the last competition he had participated in.

It had been a surprise, though, when Yuri immediately accepted his offer of spending a day hanging out. Sure enough, they had gotten really close in the time they had properly started talking with each other, but Otabek thought Yuri’s friends would’ve been all over him on his birthday of all days. With the way Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov treated him, not taking into account Viktor’s entire - well, _being_ ; he had been convinced Yuri wouldn’t have been able to be preyed away from their claws of excessive displays of affection and, surely, embarrassingly big plans of parties.

Nevertheless, here is Otabek now, carefully putting the cake into a box and then into the refrigerator of Yuri’s apartment (their designated meeting place), checking the clock to make sure of the time. Yuri would be coming in through the door any minute now. He takes off and folds the apron, turns on the coffee maker so it’ll start brewing two new cups of coffee and sits down on the couch to mindlessly surf through TV channels.

Otabek loses track of time by spacing out on an Animal Channel program about baby penguins and is promptly jolted out of his stupor by the sound of the door unlocking and then being kicked open, Yuri’s voice resonating throughout the apartment.

“ _Finally_ , holy shit. I swear planes get slower the more time you spend on them. It didn’t take this long for me to get from Beijing to Saint Petersburg two years ago, I’m sure of it,” he grunts, carelessly throwing his scarf and coat over the back of the couch, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

Otabek watches him make a beeline for the coffee maker and pour himself a cup of coffee with delight written all across his face, and lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t think that’s how planes work, Yura.”

He gets a scowl in return and a patronizingly loud slurp of coffee. “Well, that’s how they work _now_.”

Otabek stretches, standing up from the couch and stretching his hands over his head, a couple centimeters off of touching the ceiling. He can swear he hears a small annoyed mutter of “ _tall people_ ” and lets a little grin spread across his face and the butterflies play in his stomach. He can’t remember the last time he smiled this much; not before Yuri.

 _Not before Yuri._ That seems to be the constant for a lot of the changes in his life.

With a sigh, he lets his arms down and goes over the list in his head of _Things To Do With Yuri On His Birthday_ one more time. It’s all cool, he’s got this evening planned out to the T and it’s gonna be perfect. Yuri just needs a little while to rest from the flight and possibly change out of his clothes before they head out and then it’s showtime.

*

They start out with a movie. In the beginning it feels too much like a date, too much like it holds a _something_ that still isn’t clearly defined between them. The moment the movie starts and the lights dim in the cinema, the atmosphere shifting around them, Otabek worries that he’s gone too far. Maybe he’s making Yuri uncomfortable, maybe this is not at all what Yuri wanted to do on his _birthday_ , maybe he fucked up real bad and -

A nudge on his right arm interrupts the spiral of his thoughts and he turns his head to look at Yuri stuffing his mouth with popcorn. The anxiety relents.

“Eat or I’m gonna finish them all. I can’t put on any weight right now. Gonna end up looking like Katsuki.” His eyes never leave the screen and Otabek takes it as a sign that he chose the right movie. He allows himself a slight chuckle, which turns Yuri’s attention towards him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked the caramel popcorn, then,” Otabek teases, grabbing a fistful of candy-coated popcorn of his own. Yuri flips him off, no actual malice behind it, and turns his gaze back to the screen.

There’s a small _you can’t tell me what to do_ muttered from next to him as Otabek starts chewing on the popcorn, turning his attention to the screen as well.

*

The next step is a burger joint. No fancy dinner, no expensive restaurant - Otabek knows how much Yuri hates those places full of overpriced suits and suffocating perfume, even if he has to endure them from time to time due to meetings with sponsors or galas. They also don’t offer vegetarian options other than boring pasta most of the time, so instead, they have lunch at a nearby local vegetarian place. They both order burgers, with their side of fries and onion rings - which Yuri all but shoves into Otabek’s plate as soon as their order arrives. Otabek looks at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused look to his eyes but Yuri doesn’t explain or apologize, he just digs into his food like nothing happened. After a moment, when the amusement in his eyes turns into fondness, Otabek digs in too to distract himself from the loud beating heart drumming against his ribs.

Lunch passes in amiable chitchat about their current competitions and where they’re gonna be and if maybe they could meet up again soon - which, for them, means once every few months due to their hectic and conflicting schedules. It had been truly a miracle they had both had the same day off and that day was Yuri’s birthday.

Which, thankfully, Otabek has abstained from commenting on. Yuri hasn’t made a comment on it either, but Otabek hadn’t expected him to. The guilt of making Yuri think he doesn’t remember his birthday or plans on congratulating him is lethal, but he knows he has to hold on until they get back to Yuri’s apartment and he can give him the cake. It wouldn’t be a surprise otherwise.

They finish up their meals and pay, thanking the owner for the delicious food, and head out. The plan is to go back to the apartment, have another cup of coffee and then break out the cake, so Otabek starts walking towards the motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. A tug on his coat’s sleeve stops him.

“ _Beka._ ”

He turns back to Yuri, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, and sees Yuri practically _beaming_ with childlike wonder and excitement in his eyes. His other hand is stretched out, pointing towards something Otabek can’t distinguish until his eyes land on a bright neon sign and sliding doors opening to a colorful inside.

“It’s an _arcade_ ,” Yuri says, like it’s the first time he’s ever encountered one, like it’s a wild beast out on the jungle and his eyes are hungry to catch it. But they’re also filled with innocent want so hopeful Otabek almost feels weak at the knees. He couldn’t say no to that even on his best of days and he wouldn’t ever want to.

(Yuri Plisetsky could probably destroy countries through determination and ingenuity alone. It’s both frightening and exhilarating at the same time.)

So with a faked sigh and a smile trying to break his facade, Otabek turns to the direction of the arcade. “Can’t be helped, I guess.”

Yuri’s smile has always been worth it.

*

They’ve spent probably too much time at the arcade but Otabek’s never seen Yuri smile and laugh so carefreely. It’s not all smiles though, of course, as they race each other or bet against who can make the most kills. It’s a competition, but one that Otabek doesn’t feel compelled to win. That doesn’t mean he’s not giving it his all, though.

But Yuri’s competitive streak is strong. The moment Otabek manages to snatch one of those plushies from the machine games, Yuri encouraging him on with _ohh_ s and _you’ve really got it this time!_ and focused eyes watching like a hawk, he thrusts it towards Yuri without a word and a grin on his face. He allows himself to ruffle Yuri’s hair, because his expression is priceless, looking between the tiger plushie in his hands and Otabek’s face with a pinkish tint high on his cheeks.

Silent, just like Otabek, he carefully puts the tiger plushie down next to his feet and inserts a coin into the machine. Otabek watches with eyebrows raised as Yuri concentrates on the crank and the claw of the machine, the tip of his tongue poking out from in between his lips in concentration, and feels warmth spread through him.

Otabek starts to wonder if this is even a present for Yuri or if it’s for himself because, as he watches this boy frown and curse when the plushie slips out of the claw, put in another coin into the machine and steel his eyes with even more determination and a spark of challenge, he can’t be any more grateful.

The thing with the butterflies? They’re annoying as fuck, but Otabek can take it. He will endure it, will stand weak-kneed next to beautiful, beautiful Yuri. He will endure everything just to stand next to the boy with the attitude problem, the boy who never learned how to express affection, the boy who is still trying to piece himself together, the boy with the soul of a soldier that will march into battle and put his life on the line for the things he believes in. The boy who has, irrevocably and without even doing anything at all, snatched his heart away. But Yuri is the only person he could ever think of entrusting it to, so it all evens out in the end.

Otabek’s so wrapped up in his own mind that Yuri’s yell of victory makes him jump out of his skin. He physically jolts and has to calm himself and his heart down before he can look back at Yuri’s triumphant expression. He’s holding a plushie bear in his hands, easily twice as big as the tiger Otabek gave to him, and is grinning like a maniac. He looks like he just won gold at the Grand Prix with the highest record in history and Otabek thinks he would probably have done it with the amount of concentration that he had put into the silly game.

And then as it hits him that Yuri Plisetsky, renowned skater with almost as many medals under his belt as he has years, just poured concentration worthy of a Grand Prix gold medal into a senseless _game_ in an arcade to get a stupid bear plushie for _him_ , he can’t help the blush that creeps up his face in the most overwhelming form of delight he’s ever felt in his life.

Yuri seems to realize it then too, because in almost an instant his face goes beet red and he suddenly averts his eyes. Yuri, the “Russian Punk” who picks a fights with the most important and dangerous skaters in the world, shyly looks down and mumbles just loud enough for Otabek to make out the sentence.

“You… you got me the tiger so I thought - I thought I should get you the bear. Now we’re even, right?” His arms thrust toward Otabek, still avoiding his gaze and possibly trying to combat the blush in vain.

And Otabek wants to say that no, they’re not _even_ , because he’s falling so hard and so fast he almost feel nauseous with the vertigo and the rushing of blood in his ears. Instead he lets out a startled laugh and reaches out one hand to ruffle Yuri’s hair once again, taking the plushie off of him with the other.

If his hand lingered on Yuri’s cheek a little longer than before and if his eyes were brimming with emotions he didn’t want to face yet, neither pointed it out.

*

It’s hours later than planned when they arrive back at Yuri’s apartment and let themselves fall into the couch in sync with a long sigh. They hadn’t even bothered to take off their coats and scarves with how exhausted they were. Nevertheless, Otabek knows the most important part of the evening is fast approaching so he stands up a few seconds after, shedding his outer layers of clothing.

“I’m gonna make coffee,” he announces as he walks to the kitchen. A single thumbs up is all the answer the gets.

Once in the kitchen, he sneaks a glance to the refrigerator, nerves and expectation worming their way into him once again, and turns on the coffee maker. The sound of the coffee brewing mixes in with the tell-tale rustling of fabric of Yuri taking off his coat before he turns on the TV. There is a certain quiet that exists in between all the sounds, that warms him and it makes him feel at home kilometers away from his country.

(He decides, there and then, that he could get used to this. To late peaceful evenings, sipping coffee and huddling under covers for warmth. To early cold mornings, breathing warmth into their hands and zipping up jackets before practice. To Yuri as a constant in his life. It doesn’t shake him up or make his hands tremble; instead, it calms him and instills confidence in him. _Yeah_ , he thinks.  _This feels right_.)

When the coffee finishes brewing, Otabek pours two mugs. He takes one up to his mouth and takes a refreshing sip, warm liquid chasing out the cold in his body, and places the other one on the small kitchen table.

“Coffee’s on the table!” He calls to Yuri over his shoulder, walking back into the kitchen and steeling himself before the refrigerator door.

“I don’t wanna get up,” Yuri complains, and Otabek can imagine him huddling into his scarf, pouting like a child. He rolls his eyes fondly.

“Don’t be a lazy ass, Yura.”

He hears another complaint. Footsteps follow it soon after, and then the scrape of a chair against the floor. Yuri sips on his coffee as Otabek pulls the inconspicuous white box from the refrigerator. He’s nervous and giddy at the same time, a barely-there blush on his cheeks, but he can’t back out now.

Trying to exude the confidence he clearly doesn’t have right now, Otabek walks to the kitchen table and places the white box in front of Yuri. His hands grip the back of the chair opposite of Yuri and his eyes look anywhere but Yuri’s face.

“Uh,” he starts, awkward, and laughs at himself a little. His hand comes up to scratch at his freshly shaven undercut and tries again. “I know it’s not much but I, uh, wanted to give you _something_.” He then reaches out and takes the top off the box, revealing the cake inside. It’s white and grey, and there’s Russian writing on it. He says it out loud, anyway. “Happy birthday, Yuratchka.”

The silence stretches and stretches until Otabek almost can’t take it. And then there’s laughter. And it’s coming from  _Yuri_.

Otabek is so surprised that his eyes forget they were evading Yuri’s at all costs. He watches as Yuri laughs and laughs and wipes tears away from his eyes. _Does he think this is a joke? Why is he laughing? Did I make a really obvious grammar mistake?_ Otabek’s mind is reeling with the possibilities and he feels anxiety crawling up his spine.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m so sorry I don’t -” Yuri’s interrupted by another fit of laughter and has to wipe at his eyes _again_ and Otabek’s convinced he truly fucked up this time. “I don’t wanna be _mean_ , the cake is awesome and everything but, uh…,” he sputters, finally looking up at Otabek with a teasing smile but fond and apologetic eyes, shiny from the tears. “My birthday’s next month.”

Otabek’s knees suddenly give out. He manages to catch himself by gripping the back of the chair as his only lifeline but still crouches down and feels his face heat up in the worst possible embarrassment he’s ever felt.

“ _Beka?!_ ” Yuri’s voice is surprised and filled with concern, echoed by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as he suddenly bolts up from his seat, but Otabek can’t bring himself to look up nor stand up from his position.

How is he gonna look at Yuri in the face _ever again_? He’s sure he just managed to pull off the most ridiculous and embarrassing stunt in the universe and it was all _pointless_ because Yuri’s birthday wasn’t today and it was a month away and he was a fool. A complete and utter _idiot_.

“Hey.” The proximity and softness of the voice startles him. He unconsciously looks up to find Yuri crouched down next to him and catches a glimpse of the teasing spark in his eyes mixed with concern before he averts his stare. A small chuckle comes out from Yuri’s lips and Otabek has to let go of the chair and hide his face in his hands. “Where did you learn my birthday?”

“Yuri’s Angels…” He mutters behind the hands, not even sure if he’s being loud enough for Yuri to make out what he’s saying but a snort very obviously trying to be repressed but failing assures him he was heard clearly enough. His face goes even redder, if possible. He had already dug himself into this hole, why not make it worse by digging deeper and letting Yuri know he followed the social media of his extremist club of fans, right? _Right._

After a few breaths that are very obviously to calm himself down and not explode into laughter again, Yuri speaks. “They must’ve gotten a number wrong or you read it wrong, or something.”

 _Yeah, I can guess that much,_ he wants to shoot back at Yuri, but instead he just swallows it and lets himself keep stewing in his embarrassment for a little longer. Not like he’s gonna be able to look at Yuri in the face again anyway.

A few beats pass and his legs are starting to cramp but he refuses to move or peek out from under his hands. He’s gonna stay crouched here and his legs will give out from trying to support him and he’s going to _die_ here, thank you very much.

Then there’s a gentle hand smoothing his hair back and it shocks him out of his stubborn position, making him look back at Yuri. And Yuri’s still there, biting his lip like he’s trying to repress a smile. And there’s this _something_ in Yuri’s eyes that Otabek cannot place, but it washes over him in warm waves.

Yuri blinks, averts his gaze, then seems to steel himself to look back at Otabek again. His cheeks are crimson now. One of his hands reaches up to his hair, playing with the single braid at its side.

He’s fidgety and seems almost _nervous_ and Otabek can’t understand why.

“Thank you,” Yuri’s voice is quiet in the apartment, like he’s speaking only to the space in the invisible bubble surrounding them. It’s so intimate Otabek shivers just slightly. “Nobody had ever baked me a cake. Neither had tried to celebrate my birthday.”

There’s actual _gratitude_ in Yuri’s eyes and Otabek’s brain is going haywire. How is he supposed to process this, this Yuri with soft eyes and a sad smile that Otabek wants to hug out of him, telling him secrets and confiding in him? He’s not even sure there’s anyone in the world capable of handling this situation calmly (after he thinks that, he feels a little bit better about having to repress that high-pitched yelp).

“But… but -” Otabek’s grasping at straws, his mouth running without his permission.”Your friends… Viktor…” He says as only explanation, bewildered.

They’re enough words for Yuri to understand what he means and bark out a laugh. It’s a little sad at the corners and Otabek’s hands itch to chase that sadness away. “There’s much less time in the skating world for birthdays than there is for practice and competitions. I thought you’d know that much.”

The teasing edge is back in his voice and Otabek feels a little relieved. It’s true, though, that birthdays are generally not that big of a deal on the rink, the athletes’ minds more often than not more concentrated on training and winning than pointless celebrations. At least that had been his experience back at his home rink in Kazakhstan, but with Yuri’s rinkmates’ personalities he thought they’d at least thrown him a party or two, maybe just gifted him a cake every year, but they must’ve had done _something_.

Yuri sighs and stands up, stretching towards the ceiling and shaking his legs, probably asleep by being crouched for so long. The moment he stands up he breaks the bubble of intimacy, releasing the tension in Otabek’s muscles. “Ahh, I’m still gonna eat the cake, though. It better be good, because if it’s not I’m gonna make you bake me another one for my _actual_ birthday and I’m gonna eat it all and not give you a single crumb.”

(He hears what Yuri is trying to say as clear as day. _Thank you_.)

Otabek bolts up in the middle of Yuri’s rambling, his brain on autopilot. Yuri gets out a little surprised _huh?_ before Otabek’s arms are around him, squeezing him tight. He allows himself to linger for a few seconds more than necessary and then lets go, holding Yuri at arm’s length.

“I was gonna bake you another one, anyway. And now you’re gonna have to eat it all even if it tastes horrible,” he deadpans, immediately turning around and walking back to the kitchen for his cup of coffee, hiding his smile under one of his hands.

(And he hopes Yuri also understands what he’s trying to say. _You’re welcome_.)

When Otabek comes back to the table Yuri is already seated back in his chair, face endearingly red up to the tip of his ears, and he sips on his coffee as Yuri unceremoniously stabs the cake with a fork.

“It’s a promise, then.” He speaks around his mouthful of cake and sneaks a glance at Otabek, who chuckles, airy and content.

“Of course it’s a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> please come talk to me about ice skating gays on [twitter](http://twitter.com/lustfuIcat).


End file.
